


Quietly

by GrlMonday



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Bathroom Sex, F/M, Quiet Sex, Season/Series 05, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-24 01:44:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14345349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrlMonday/pseuds/GrlMonday
Summary: While traveling for DC, the family finds a house to settle for a needed break. Things become heated between Daryl and Michonne one rainy night as they work off some tension.





	Quietly

**Author's Note:**

> Pre-Richonne Dixonne. Re-write posted 3/24/2019.

I've decided to do a re-write on this. I've added to it, re-worked it. I hope you enjoy.

 

* * *

 

Sometimes, even at the end of the world, there were lucky finds and little things to celebrate.

The house they find has a sturdy cast iron fence never breached by either walkers or people, though the grass is insanely high after a year of not being cut. It’s been spared the ravages of the fall of mankind largely by luck, Michonne thinks. The locals who knew about this property had died either from the swift moving fire of the turn, the walkers that attacked and killed them, suicide, murder, starvation, and untreated illness. They’ve only found it by getting lost.

The group knows to be quiet, even little Judith, who lies across her brother’s chest with a kind of sad, dead disinterest no child should have. The bugs are eating them alive, but they barely have the energy to scratch the itching bites, especially Judith. She just stares at some point over Michonne’s shoulder, blinking slowly, allowing a fly to crawl on her ear. Michonne worries for her. How can she survive this journey with such unpredictable conditions? Especially with heat that’s like a wet towel wrapped around their bodies, boiling them alive in the day?

Abraham picks up a piece of cardboard, made brittle from exposure, inspects it to make certain it’s free of any critters, and then begins fanning Judith. The fly moves along, she closes her eyes in relief, and even Carl sighs, benefitting second hand from Abraham’s kind gesture to his little sister.  

“Y’all stay here,” Daryl says, now on the other side of the fence, holding up a scythe that he got God only knows where while she wasn’t paying attention. “Lotta snakes in this high grass.”

“What are we gonna do if you get bit?” Tyreese asks.

“Put a bullet in my brain and bury me with my bow,” Daryl says. He sounds tired. He looks tired. A bullet to the brain didn’t sound so bad to Michonne right then, with hunger and thirst gnawing at her gut like a savage beast.

They wait for Daryl to make quick work of cutting a narrow path with the scythe that Michonne doesn’t know how he has the strength to wield. The does a good job following the walkway from the entrance to the porch. He isn’t wrong about the snakes, either. By the time he reaches the porch he’s killed two big rattlers, beheading them and holding them up for the group to get a look at. They’re long past turning their nose up at sources of food. They’ll eat anything to survive, and suffer another day.

Dry grass crunches underfoot while she and Rick lead the way to the house. Abraham curses when a few more snakes slither over his boots. He offers to carry Rosita in on his back. She threatens to castrate him, and they smile at each other about it. They’ll be fucking later that night, after the kids have gone to sleep, Michonne is sure of it.

There are a family of walkers in the big bedroom inside. Mom, Dad, a girl of around twelve and a girl of around five years. Rick kills the kids, sparing Michonne the job, though she doesn’t ask him to. That’s Rick, though. Ever the gentleman. His eyes are empty during the task. They’re always empty of late, and she gets it. Too many loved ones lost, too many run-ins with people turned savage, no safe haven for his children and friends, himself, no food in his belly, or water for his tongue. Why do they fight to stay alive, only to suffer so hard?

“Why?” she asks.

He doesn’t have to ask her what she means.

“Instinct,” he answers. “Hope. I don’t know anymore.”

Tyreese is in the doorway, listening. He asks if they should find shovels and bury the dead. Rick says no. They’ll throw them out into the high grass. These weren’t their people. They need rest more than they need to kill themselves on symbolism. These people were dead. They didn’t give a fuck if they were buried, burned, or discarded like garbage. Whatever made them human had departed long ago. It simply didn’t matter anymore.

The house is lived in. Either the occupants are hiding, or they’re not home, when the group searches the house. It’s been kept obsessively neat, free of dust, everything in order. Michonne pairs off with Carol and Daryl to look out back, and they find the occupant of the house. He’s about sixteen, dressed neatly in his Sunday best, dead only a few days. His hair has been neatly combed, his tie perfectly tied and straight, and his shoes polished to a shine. His feet are tied to the rocking chair, his right hand cuffed, and a piece of paper is pinned to his suit. Beside him, on the table in a big glass bowl is an empty bottle of opioid pain medication and a half empty glass of tea. He reaches for them with his free hand, but Michonne puts him down. Carol takes the note and reads it to them.

 _My name is Jared, and we’re the Goode family. Thomas, Myrna, Grace, and Lydia. It’s almost been a year. I’ve finished Mama’s garden. I’d rather be with them, now. Forgive me, God. I know suicide is a sin. I hope he’ll let me be with them anyway, considering what He’s let happen down here. Please be kind and put my family down. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I can’t listen to them at night anymore, banging around in there. Use this house and the food in the garden as you will. Good luck. Goodbye_.

They take the house for themselves, resting as they need. Daryl cooks the snake meat on the grill in the backyard while they harvest vegetables from the garden and dispose of Jared’s body with his family. He’s with them, now. Michonne is usually too tired to be affected by another sad story, but she feels something for the Goode family. Perhaps it’s because of the children. Perhaps it’s because their last act is to unwittingly save the lives of a group of strangers with the use of their house, and Mrs. Goode’s garden, and she’s grateful.

Sasha finds sugar and makes something sweet to drink. They fill their bellies with rattlesnake stew. Glenn offers to take first watch, and Carl joins him. Michonne lies down on the floor of a bedroom without beds, on a pile of soft blankets. She’s grateful for the cool breeze that comes in through the open window when a rainstorm blows in. It’ll make the next day hotter but Michonne doesn’t care. They need the rain. There’s been too little of it. For now, it’ll be wonderfully cool and easy to sleep. Carol and Sasha whisper about where they’ll go next for a few moments before full bellies, soft pillows, the sound of the rain, and their own weariness lulls them to sleep.

Michonne makes a trip to the small half-bath in her room. She finishes up and thinks how nice it is to have a flushable toilet, her teeth to be clean, and her body to smell like soap, even if she is wearing a dead woman’s pajamas. The room it black as pitch. There’s no moon on a stormy night, with heavy clouds covering the sky and dumping rain everywhere. She’s grateful for it. It’ll be easier to find water to boil as they travel if it rains heavy and long. She’s about to feel her way out of the room when the door opens.

Daryl steps in, candle in hand, bringing enough light to dimly illuminate the room. He’s got something else with him. He hold it up, and she sees it’s a glass of Sasha’s lemonade, made from a lemon tree found on the property. She suddenly remembers a night they’d had on the road looking for the Governor. They’d found an old shack, and Daryl had held up a glass of moonshine the same way he held up the lemonade now. An innocent offering that she accepted then, like she accepted now. They’d gotten tipsy on the moonshine, and then fucked like wild animals in the dark on the dirty floor of that run-down cabin. It had been a one-time thing that they’d never spoken of, pretending it had never happened.

She’s thinking of his hands on her body, his tongue in her mouth, when she accepts the glass of lemonade. It’s warm. Sweet, but with a tart edge that she likes. She downs half the glass, wishing they had a way to make ice. The drink is cooler than the stuffy air of the bathroom, though, and feels good as it slides over her tongue, down her throat, and into her belly. She offers the rest to Daryl, who downs his with as much thirsty enthusiasm as she had. She whispers a thanks for the drink, stares into his blue eyes, which look gray in the light of the candle, and knows an instant before they move what’ll happen.

It’s not fast, the way he shuts the bathroom door, barely making a click. She grips his vest in her hands and pulls him to her, pressing her lips to his, her tongue sliding into his mouth, which tastes like a very Daryl Dixon combination of lemonade and cigarettes.

Sex on the road isn’t complicated for the group. It’s an unspoken thing. Abe and Rosita make no bones about boning. They just walk off when the group settles down to relieve some stress. Maggie and Glenn find spots off from the group on a nightly basis, preferring to be alone, even if they just want to sleep. Everyone else took care of their needs in private, alone, while others slept, though Michonne had caught Carol, Rick, and Daryl, respectively, as they’d worked to bring themselves to climax, simply by waking up with the need to pee while they were quietly trying to get off. It was a natural, human thing, nothing they were ashamed of. Michonne, however, chose to just get on with life, rather than getting off sexually, save for her one mad, drunken experience with Daryl.

Until tonight. A kind gesture had led to an opportunity that she literally took with both hands, standing in a darkened bathroom, in a dead family’s house, in a forgotten town. Unlike their first night together, Daryl wasn’t hesitant, or awkward He didn’t look at her in the light of the fire with doubt in his eyes as to whether or not they were making a mistake. It was just a thing to do, to relieve stress, to feel good after so many nights of suffering.

The kiss quickly grew wet, breathy, needy. His belt buckle clinked, zipper was undone, but otherwise they’re quiet. Michonne grits her teeth when his big fingers find her clit to massage her, making her wet, ache for his touch, to have him inside her. She hurriedly pulls a leg free of her pajamas as Daryl sinks to the floor, his jeans down just enough to free him. Michonne rubs his erection, feels him impossibly hard in her hand, feels the moisture already seeping from the tip. His teeth graze her collar bone, his lips on her neck, his hands grip her hips and pull her down to the floor before he’s over her, pushing into her. She takes him in, eager to have him as deep as she can get him. Their breaths are ragged, stifling moans that struggle to be free, emerging as sighs when he’s fully inside her.

Their business is their own. They don’t want to wake anyone, but goddamn does it feel good to make this connection with another person. Michonne pulls her knees up, feels the soft hair on Daryl’s stomach move against her as she puts one hand above her, to stop brim banging her head, since every thrust from Daryl pushes her toward the wall. The silence of the house seems too fragile, too easy for them to shatter, even with the rain outside to cover the sound of their union. Breathy sighs, slapping flesh, the unmistakable wet sound of him moving inside her, pounding her harder, faster. Daryl grips Michonne’s ass and begins driving into her, their breath labored as he raws her.

Michonne plants her feet on the floor, urges Daryl over. He sits up while she straddles him, puts one hand on his leg, behind her, and wraps the other around the back of his neck and begins to ride him. She’s covered in sweat as she moves her hips, hard, fast, and he plants his feet and hands to thrust up and into her, eagerly moving with her, striving to reach climax with her.  

 _Fuck,_ she sighs, her fingernails digging into the back of his neck. She doubts he can feel it right now. Not with how close he is to completion. Harder and harder she rides him, until that tension inside of her bursts, and the world explodes like a rainbow behind the eyes she has closed as she loses herself in the feel of the orgasm, which is powerful, pulsing through her like the beat of a drum. She knows the moment Daryl comes, when he stiffens, his body shuddering beneath her, his breath hot on her breasts, which she hadn’t realized were open to him until this moment. He rests his forehead against her chest, licks  her hardened nipples, suckles them, enjoys  them, enjoys the beautiful woman still on him, keeping him sheathed inside. It has all happened fairly quickly. Quietly.

They get up, go through the boring ritual of using the bathroom after, and fixing clothes, not a word spoken between them. Maybe she’ll panic about getting pregnant in the morning. Maybe he will, too. Right now, they’re too tired to care.

“Thanks for the lemonade.”

A smile from Daryl is rare. He smiles now and nods, before grabbing his candle and opening the door, uncaring if anyone sees him leaving. Carol and Sasha are still in bed. They’re either asleep, or doing a great job faking it. Either way, Michonne doesn’t care. She feels so light she could fly away. She lays on her pallet of blankets, feels the soft cushion of her pillows, her body so relaxed that she barely has time to notice the flashes of lightning and rolls of thunder from the storm outside before she falls into a deep, restful sleep.


End file.
